


momentary truce

by themetrocourt



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Banter, Bickering, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetrocourt/pseuds/themetrocourt
Summary: Julian holds vigil by Lucas' bedside only to be joined by another visitor --- Brook Lynn Ashton.  Just a bit of JuliLynn banter for anyone who might be enjoying their interaction so far.  From Julian's POV and set in December of 2019.
Relationships: Julian Jerome/Brook Lynn Ashton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	momentary truce

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first General Hospital fic in a long time (and I do mean long time). It is also my first time writing Julian or Brook Lynn but I was so tempted by the snarky banter between them that I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy this little moment in time. If so, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

_This is the most time we’ve spent together in weeks_.

Leave it to Julian’s twisted mind to let that thought go racing through. He takes a deep breath, his eyes falling shut. He can feel the beginnings of a headache creeping towards his temples. He should eat. Drink. Get up and take a walk around this damn hospital. 

Instead he stays right where he is, perched on the edge of a stiff hospital chair. Just _hoping_ while Lucas remains motionless in his bed. 

It was supposed to get better once the ventilator was removed ( _isn’t that how it always goes?_ ). Julian’s shoulders had sagged in relief when he had heard the news. Lucas is breathing on his own. He has some control over his own body and surely that means that he is out of the woods. He is so close to holding his boy in his arms. 

Yet so far away at the same time. 

The doctors won’t explain why Lucas hasn’t woken up yet --- at least not in the way Julian wants them to. He gets the feeling they are dancing around the subject, sidestepping potential land minds that may set him off. He knows he casts a long shadow over many parts of Port Charles but he figures he’s still damn well owed the truth about his son. He considers asking Bobbie but every time he looks at her, her face a mask of exhaustion and pain, he clams up, guilt pooling so quickly in his stomach he is afraid if he opens his mouth it will come rushing out. 

So, at the moment, he can do nothing more than sit here, feeling a sense of helplessness that bites at his anger, tempting him to do something he will regret. He is doing his best to hold back. After all, it is anger that put Lucas here in the first place. 

_You will never know how sorry I am_.

“Well, you look like complete shit.” 

He jolts forward, pulled out of his thoughts so swiftly it takes him a moment to realize the words were spoken aloud. His head swivels and that headache unleashes itself on him fully. “Brooklyn.”

She leans against the door frame, an eyebrow inching up her forehead. “ _Brook_. Lynn. Two words. You’re supposed to take a breath in between them,” she announces before pushing herself forward into the room. A bag swings against her side as her eyes search the room. 

Julian sees what she is looking for before she does and nearly groans aloud. Before he could protest, she is scraping the empty chair across the floor. The sound echoes through the room and he sinks back. 

Without seemingly any thought ( _or care_ ) about him, Brook Lynn settles into the chair on the opposite side of his son’s bed. She looks to Lucas, her features softening. When she speaks her greeting he notes that there is no edge to her voice. 

He supposes that is reserved for him. 

Julian knows he was out of line trying to slide her tip money (especially when you consider how measly the amount was) in response to her listening ear and her surprisingly sage advice but he has apologized. She is the one who is holding into it with a death grip that makes him wary to even open his mouth. Not because he is in anyway scared of her, mind you. He just doesn’t have it in him --- and there are more important things at the moment. 

“You know, you still owe me that catch up dinner…”

It takes him a moment to realize she is talking to Lucas and not him. She has leaned forward, one hand on the stark white blanket that covers his son. “Don’t think I’m letting you off that easy.”

“Just how do you know my son?” Julian asks, his voice almost sounding like an intrusion. He hates that. He hates that she has easily made him feel like an outsider in his own son’s room. 

Her head turns slightly, and he can see her guard go up. Her eyes harden and the corners of her mouth tighten. “We dated for a hot minute,” she tells him flippantly. 

“Wait, what?” He can’t help but be surprised. Just like when Carly had filled him on the fact that she was Ted’s daughter ( _Ted’s daughter_ ). 

She rolls her shoulders into a shrug. “Sometimes teens don’t have everything figured out. We decided that we were better friends. He had my back when I needed him to…” She trails off and he senses a hint of vulnerability. If he were on top of his game, he would latch onto it and pick it apart until she leaves him in peace. 

“He’s a good friend,” she finishes firmly. 

Julian nods his head. Of course he agrees. Lucas is a good friend. A good father. A good son. He is the kind of person that Julian will never be --- and look where it got him. Trapped inside his own body away from everyone that loves him. 

_Because of him_. 

The guilt comes again, slamming into him to remind him that it is always there. It pools in his stomach before spreading through his limbs like some slow acting poison. He has no choice but to press himself fully against the back of the chair, shrinking into himself. 

Brook Lynn gives him a look ( _one that has him wondering if she can see right through him to the heart of his sins_ ).

“What?” He barks. It would be so easy to take that pent up guilt and shove it in her face in the form of anger. He can lash out and find some temporary relief. He has a feeling she can take it too. 

She is no delicate flower.

Even now, with his harsh tone lingering between them, she simply laughs. “Nothing.” The word rolls off her tongue smoothly, biting him in a way that makes his outburst look foolish. She is trying to shame him in front of his son. “--- actually, not _nothing_. I was just thinking that you don’t look like shit after all. You just look _sad_.”

She is not talking about his emotional state.

He sucks in a deep breath, his fingers clenching together in his lap. He knows better than to engage. He will not let her pull him into a fight in front of Lucas. “You really want to do this now?” he asks and then gives a pointed look at the figure resting in the bed between them. 

She has the good sense to look shamed herself and he realizes that he had been on the verge of panicking. Had she pushed just a little further, he wondered if she would have found a kernel of truth to grab onto. If he is going to confess his sins to anyone, she would be so low on the list it would hardly be first hand news by the time he got around to it. 

They lapse into some sort of silent truce, backing off from the battle lines for now. 

She focuses on Lucas instead. “You know, I never really got to tell you about all the places I saw on tour…”

“You sing?”

That earns him a glare. 

Back to that silent truce it seems. 

“I think my favorite was California. Sounds cliche I know,” she says with an elaborate roll of her eyes (as if Lucas can actually see her do it). “But I got to stick my feet in the Pacific Ocean. This Bensonhurst girl felt it was poetic, ya know?” She smiles and Julian knows she is reliving that moment. When she shakes herself free of it, he swears she looks self conscious, not something he would associate with what he has seen of her thus far (but he knows he has only seen her edges; the sharp ones at that). “Anyway, _when_ you wake up, I’ll tell you all about it. Oh just tell you to check out my Instagram. Whatever…”

_When you wake up…_

Julian’s eyes are on Lucas once more. He will wake up. He _has_ to. There is no other option. Even as he hears whispers of long term care facilities, Julian tells himself that it won’t be long now. Lucas will wake and all will be right. 

( _except it won’t, will it?_ ) 

He pushes back at the guilt once more as she seems to suddenly remember the bag she had strolled in here with. Her hand dives into it and she pulls free a small ceramic Christmas tree. 

“What the hell is that?” He guesses he hasn’t pushed hard enough because the words are out of his mouth before he could stop himself. 

Brook Lynn freezes, the tree halfway to its resting place on Lucas’ bedside table. “It’s a Christmas tree,” she says slowly. “You need glasses, old man?”

Julian leans forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “No,” he begins again. “I mean --- why the hell did you bring that?”

“God, you’re dense,” she shoots back immediately. She sets it carefully on the bedside table and fiddles with it until it lights up. She settles back in her chair, obviously pleased with herself. “I thought this room could use some cheering up.”

He doesn’t like it. The room has seen its fair share of flowers. He takes a perverse pleasure in watching them wither and die. Because they are temporary. Just like Lucas’ stay here. A momentary brightness to tide everyone over until Lucas wakes up. That Christmas tree is heavy, more permanent. It means that Lucas will be here on December 25th instead of with his family where he should be.

That _cannot_ happen. 

__

__

Julian has half a mind to go over there and shove the thing back in the bag resting on her lap. Before he can give into the impulse, she speaks and her words effectively ground him back to the reality of it all. 

“It was my great-grandmother’s,” she says and he is not sure if she is talking to him or Lucas. “When I was a child I used to be obsessed with this thing…”

“So why not put it up in the house?”

“It’s getting a makeover. Top to bottom,” Brook Lynn answers, a taste of bitterness in her words. “Aunt Monica and my _dear_ stepmother figured the Q mansion was looking a little dated. I found the tree in some box, collecting dust. Figure it had better chances of surviving the great purge if it were here.” She reaches out, her fingers dancing over the worn green paint. 

Julian notes that there is no dust in sight. She had probably cleaned it up before she brought it here. For some reason, that touches a part of him that is not entirely infused with guilt and rage. 

There are two very distinct sides of Brook Lynn Ashton, he decides. And she is capable of showing them both at the same time. He has felt the heat of her anger but her compassion is not that far behind. Hell, even her wardrobe seems to be at war with itself --- he can’t help but note the leather skirt (that is an inch too short) and the fluffy purple sweater she has paired it with. Throw in the obligatory combat books and Julian is sure that she is trying her best to send a warning: _friendly until poked too hard_. 

Well, he can’t seem to un-ring that bell now can he?

Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try. 

“Thank you,” he says, carefully enunciating the words instead of mumbling them into his chest like he is sorely tempted to. For a moment, he thinks she is going to lob the words back at him like some sort of live grenade. 

Instead, she merely nods before standing. “I should go. I am sure you want some time alone with him before they kick you out.” 

He dares anyone to try. 

He returns her nod, his eyes drifting from her, to the tree, to Lucas. 

She disappears a lot more quietly than she came. 

Julian releases then just how tense every muscle in his body is. He forces himself to relax, letting his shoulders fall and spreading his fingers out on his upper thighs. He should talk to Lucas. Bobbie had told him before she left to get some rest that Lucas may hear them. He may find some words to latch onto and ride back to consciousness. For a moment, Julian wonders, with some amusement, what his son thinks of the conversation he was just an unwilling witness to. 

“You know…” he says, his voice suddenly quiet when it should be loud. “...I never meant for any of this to happen.” 

It is as close as he has come to confessing his sins aloud. 

The realization silences him once more. 

He loses track of how long he sits in it. It is only when he hears now familiar footsteps that he snaps himself free, bracing as he turns to find Brook Lynn once more in the doorway. 

In her hand, she has a cup of coffee. She doesn’t invade the room this time. Instead she sets it on the nearest surface and leaves once more. 

_A momentary truce offering perhaps?_

He decides to take it.


End file.
